


The Old Wykehamist

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2722475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Heversham, formerly Ardsley Wooster, runs unexpectedly into someone he used to know at school; someone, in fact, who has a grudge against him, and thinks he can use that grudge as leverage.</p>
<p>Anyone who tries that sort of thing on his lordship is likely to get a great deal more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Wykehamist

**Author's Note:**

> I had perhaps better explain something about the British education system for the benefit of anyone who is confused. Generally speaking, in Britain a "school" is an institution which educates people up to the age of 16 or 18, although there is a growing trend for the term to be used for individual university faculties (eg School of Medicine). A "college" usually educates people who are over 16; sometimes this is an independent institution, and sometimes it is part of one of the older universities (eg King's College, Cambridge). However, Winchester College is actually a school, in the British sense; it is one of the old public schools, like Eton and Harrow, and viewed on more or less the same level as those two. And, for historical reasons, someone who attended Winchester College is known as an Old Wykehamist, in the same way that someone who attended Eton is an Old Etonian.
> 
> The school's motto in real life is as it is quoted in the story.

“Ardsley,” said Gil, “I've got a rather unusual request. In fact, you may need to get clearance from Whitehall for it, as it'll take up quite a lot of time, I'm afraid; but I think you'll get that without a problem.”

“Oh?” I asked, intrigued.

“Well, it's not really for me. It's for Tsarina Elisaveta,” he explained. “As you know, things have reached the point where it's safe for her to return to Russia and act as regent until Tsarevna Ekaterina is old enough to ascend the throne herself. And, as I think you also know, she's returning the way she left – via Castle Wulfenbach. What you probably don't know is why.”

“You're quite correct,” I said.

“We both know Elisaveta's main weakness is languages,” Gil continued. “Other than that, I don't see any reason why she won't be able to hold Russia together; possibly not as well as her late husband, but, I think, not badly. Elisaveta knows that very well herself, and so she's asked me to build a translation device. She's offered to pay me handsomely for it, since she's no longer a poor exile; she's the Tsarina of Russia and she has plenty of financial backing. I'm happy to do it, and I can certainly teach it all the languages I know. But there is just one little wrinkle. I don't speak Polish, and that is, of course, her native language.”

“Ah!” I exclaimed. “So you would like me to come and speak Polish to it.”

“Indeed, and train it to translate between Polish and other languages, which is naturally going to be its main function. You'd be paid for that too, not that I can imagine that mattering a great deal to you; but it's a skilled task, and Elisaveta would rather you didn't do it for nothing.”

I nodded. I could see why she was asking Gil, even though she had her own sparks in Russia; anyone who has thought about the nature of translation for more than a few minutes can see why mechanical translation is such a thorny problem. Even the most simple words have their pitfalls; when rendering “wood” into German, for instance, it is necessary to understand the context in order to know whether to use _Holz_ or _Wald_. And as for idioms... Donatella Marchesi, who is Gil's chief administrator, sometimes informs me that Gil _ha fatto un quarant'otto_ , which would make no sense whatsoever if translated literally. What she means is that, to put it colloquially, he blew his top, which would sound equally nonsensical if translated back literally into Italian.

“Well, with the usual official provisos, I'd be very happy to help,” I said. “It sounds like a most intriguing project.”

“Excellent!” said Gil. “I was hoping you would. Having you actually working with me on an invention will be just like old times. And, I've got to say, it will be a challenge. I haven't had a good challenge for a long time.”

I was delighted. Gil had, unsurprisingly, been in a bad way since he lost his son Aristide, and now here was something to help him fully return to the land of the living. It was fitting, too, that it should have come from the Tsarina, since it had largely been Aristide's sacrifice that had paved the way to the restoration of her throne.

So all the arrangements were made, and, once all the diplomatic gears had finished grinding, Elisaveta of Russia was welcomed once again on board Castle Wulfenbach, along with what was now a fairly substantial retinue. Out of tact I was not there when they initially boarded; I thought she would probably still have her maid Jadwiga with her, and I did not wish to put Jadwiga to the trouble of pretending not to recognise me, as she would have had to do. I had needed a Polish speaker to escort Elisaveta to England, and that had meant asking Gil to send out a memorandum which, without saying it in so many words, offered amnesty to any Polish spy on the Castle in exchange for performing that task. Jadwiga had been that spy, and Gil missed very little.

Instead, I flew up a little later. Gil speaks good Russian, and Elisaveta can, of course, converse in that, although not fluently, so they would not be completely stuck without me in the meantime. When I eventually joined them, however, to my astonishment I heard a third voice as I entered, speaking rapidly in Polish.

Of course. Prince Tadeusz. He would be... what? Nine now.

And he was interpreting. I knew very well he had not been able to speak a word of Russian when he left Poland. I, of all people, was in a position to know that, since the agent we had planted to keep an eye on him was none other than his nurse. But he had clearly been learning it in England, and learning it well. I expected, therefore, that he would also be able to speak good English. What other languages he knew now I could only guess, although possibly not many yet, or else his half-sister would not be here asking for a translation machine.

I almost collided with a large man standing near the door. “By Jove,” he exclaimed, under his breath in English. “Wooster!”

I had not the faintest idea who he was, apart from, presumably, the Tsarina's bodyguard; but I nodded to him cordially and entered the room, where I bowed. “Your Imperial Majesty,” I said, naturally in Polish. “It is good to see you again. And, Your Highness, it is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Lord Heversham!” said Elisaveta. “I am so glad to see you. Thank you for agreeing to help with the translation project. Your contribution will be invaluable.”

Tadeusz rattled off that last exchange to Gil in Russian. Ah, so no German yet, then. But he would learn, I did not doubt.

“You are English, are you not?” asked Tadeusz, in that language.

Well, if he wished to practise, I was happy to oblige; in any case, I knew he would translate back for Elisaveta's benefit. “I am,” I replied, in the same language. “May I ask how many languages Your Highness speaks?”

He gave me a wonderfully mischievous grin. “Oh, just three at the moment, my lord, and you already know which they are; but I am learning German and French now.”

“Your English is excellent, Your Highness,” I said. “But we had perhaps better switch back to Polish or Russian, or both.”

We did, and further conversation established the fact that Tadeusz was not on his way back to Poland, as I had thought he might be. It would have been safe for him to return now, given the fact that his father, Martellus von Blitzengaard, was now missing, believed dead; the rumour was that he had been killed by one of his own associates, but, having had a great deal too much to do with von Blitzengaard during my eventful life, I personally will not fully believe he is dead until I see the body for myself. Even then, I shall be somewhat doubtful. I have seen people escape inside other people's heads a few times too often.

But, whether von Blitzengaard was dead, alive, undead or in some state not covered by any of the above, Tadeusz was going to Russia with Elisaveta. He had grown very close to his half-sister, and, consequently, she had adopted him, no doubt as insurance in case anything happened to little Tsarevna Ekaterina. Ekaterina, as the late Tsar Arkadii's only child, remained the heir to the throne. Still, I thought Elisaveta's course of action was prudent. Apart from anything else, Tadeusz was a strong spark.

We had a productive discussion about the details of the translation device, during which Gil took copious notes. Eventually, the Tsarina expressed a desire to return to her suite; but, before she did so, I asked if I might have a private word with the man who had recognised me at the door. It transpired that he was, indeed, her bodyguard, but, since she scarcely needed him here, I was allowed to detain him for as long as I wished.

I took him off into one of the side rooms. “I'm most awfully sorry,” I said, “but I'm afraid I don't recognise you in the least.”

“I was at Winchester College,” he said. “Still can't place me?”

“There is something about your tone that is very familiar,” I replied, “but no. After all, it was over thirty years ago.”

“Dangerfield,” he said.

“Great Scott,” I said. “How did you recognise me, may I ask? I've changed a great deal.”

“Your eyes. Know 'em a mile off. And anyway, you may be grey now, but you're not much wrinkled. Old Father Time hasn't pulled your face about too much, though there's perhaps not so much flesh on it as there was.” There was a faint sour note of envy in his voice.

“Well,” I said. “Was there... anything you wanted to talk to me about in particular?”

“Well now,” he replied. “So you're Lord Heversham now, are you? What sort of lord, if I might be so bold as to ask?”

“The Earl,” I said.

“You certainly kept that one quiet. We all thought you were just an ordinary scholarship boy. Expected heirs all died off, did they?”

“I was, as you put it, just an ordinary scholarship boy,” I replied. I was not sure exactly where this conversation was going, but I was now quite clear I did not like his tone. Evidently there were some things which had not changed at all in over thirty years. “Her Undying Majesty was pleased to grant me this title some years ago, in recognition of my service as Ambassador here.”

“Oh, that sort of earl,” he said, dismissively.

Now, it is fair to say that over the years I have had some very mixed feelings about my title; although I have never seen it as anything other than a great honour, I have had problems at times with people who automatically behave differently towards me just because of it, without knowing anything else about me. Nonetheless, I was not taking this from Dangerfield, whom I knew to be the younger son of an earl himself, and therefore, strictly speaking, the Honourable Mr Dangerfield. If he had managed to behave with a little more honour while he was at Winchester, he might not now be a mere bodyguard, albeit to royalty.

“Indeed,” I replied, levelly. “As you say, that sort of earl. One who has done something to merit his title, rather than having it simply dropped into his lap the moment his father dies. This title was given to me by Her Undying Majesty, and therefore, if you disparage it, you are disparaging your Queen.”

“H'mm. You've still got that sharp tongue when you want,” he observed. “Well, all right. Never mind about your title. What's really important here is that you owe me a favour.”

“Oh? In what way?”

“You were the one who got me expelled. Weren't you?”

“Pshaw,” I said. “You got yourself expelled. Don't blame me for your appalling behaviour.”

“You sneaked on me.”

“I did not sneak,” I replied. “Don't you dare accuse me of doing so. Indeed, I went to a great deal of trouble to avoid sneaking, as you put it.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Your bullying could not be allowed to continue,” I explained. “You were causing both physical and mental harm to a number of the junior boys. The masters knew that someone was going well beyond the normally accepted limits, but your victims were too afraid of you to say who you were, and the rest of us hated what was going on but wouldn't sneak. So I tracked your movements over several days, and once I could be sure where you were going to be, I then convinced Dr Pridmore that he had a good reason to be in that place at that time. He had no idea what he would find, because, naturally, I could hardly have told him.”

“That was...”

“Not sneaking,” I said. “Don't just take my word for it. Ask anyone else who was in the Sixth at the time. I didn't make a big fuss about it, but it got round, and it made me rather popular. You weren't liked, Dangerfield; nobody likes a bully.”

“You ghastly smart alec. I suppose you never thought about what might happen to me, did you?”

“I certainly did,” I replied. “I thought you'd be expelled if there was any justice. And you were, therefore clearly there was.”

“I was,” he said bitterly. “So then I got shoved into a dreadful tenth-rate school I won't even dignify by naming, which meant I failed to get into Oxford, and you can imagine how furious Pater was. He made me go and work in an office in the City. You didn't imagine that, did you?”

“You will forgive me if I do not bemoan your tragic fate,” I said. “I'm sure your father pulled plenty of strings to get you that job.”

“It's all very well for you,” he snapped. “Look at you! You just floated to the top, didn't you? And now here you are, rich, comfortable, immaculately dressed, doing a nice cushy job, and still bloody well laughing at me. If I didn't know very well it would get me into more trouble than it was worth, I think I'd kick you in the shins.”

“Oh, feel free, if it makes you feel any better,” I replied, “but I should perhaps warn you I have mechanical legs. You would stub your toe.”

“You've got an answer to everything, damn you!”

“Well, I can assure you at least that I am not laughing at you,” I replied. “I don't know exactly what you want me to do for you; but it does sound very much as though you are asking me to rescue you from the consequences of your own choices. Is that correct?”

“No, I'm asking you to help put right what you did. You got me expelled from Winchester. You've admitted that. Well, so you owe me.”

I sighed. “I thought as much. Dangerfield, I do not owe you a thing. You got yourself expelled because you behaved badly. You would, eventually, have done that whether or not I or anyone else had been there, unless you had changed your ways. I don't discern the slightest change in you; there's no sign that you regret anything you did. You keep asking me if I ever thought about what would happen to you, but did you ever once think about what was happening to your victims? Do you remember little Tiptree, Dangerfield?”

“Who the hell was Tiptree?” asked Dangerfield.

“I suppose I really shouldn't be surprised you don't remember.” I was really angry now, though I had still not raised my voice. “You burned his hand, Dangerfield. Remember him now? Did you ever think about the pain you inflicted on him? Ever think about the poor kid lying awake at night because his hand hurt him too much to sleep? Oh, he told Matron he'd fallen and his hand had gone in the fire, but don't think we didn't know what had happened.”

“Well, he recovered, didn't he?”

“Did he? Physically, yes. Mentally, who knows? You can't see the scars in a man's mind just by looking into his eyes, Dangerfield.”

I do not know what Dangerfield saw in my eyes just then, but it appeared to subdue him. “Well,” he said, uneasily. “I... er... I shouldn't have troubled you, should I? But, you know, as one Old Wykehamist to another, could I at least have your assurance that you won't say anything of this to Her Imperial Majesty?”

“You don't count as an Old Wykehamist,” I said, flatly. “You were expelled because your behaviour was a disgrace to the school. However, I will not say anything to the Tsarina, unless I see anything in your future behaviour which merits warning her about you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very clear, er... my lord,” he replied.

“I'm surprised she trusts you, but that is her business. I would not interfere in her affairs without very good reason. Don't give me that reason, and all will be well.”

“I've been a good bodyguard,” he said. “I've looked after her and the two little ones as if they were my own. I swear it. You can ask, if you like.”

“That is the most welcome thing I've heard from you since we met,” I replied. “Good. Go on doing that. But remember, it's going to be a great deal more dangerous when you get to Russia. I'll tell you what I will do for you, if you like; I'll give you a few hints on dealing with that. I used to be a spy, after all.”

“You did?!”

“Yes, Dangerfield. I am very well practised at fending off people who are trying to kill either me or someone I am guarding. I am not quite the soft, comfortable aristocrat you take me for.”

“I think I'd already decided you weren't soft, my lord,” he said ruefully.

“Well, you had better not be soft either. I shall be around Castle Wulfenbach a great deal while you are here. Mostly I shall be helping the Baron in his laboratory, but if you see me outside it, come and talk to me. Oh, and how are you armed at the moment?”

“Got a cosh and a dagger, my lord.”

“Good start,” I said, “but we could do a little more, I think. You will want a gun. I've always carried my old Service pistol, which has stun capability and a few other interesting tricks as well as the usual lethal force; I'd recommend something like that.”

“Yes... er... but... you said just now you didn't trust me, more or less,” he said.

“If you've proved yourself to be trustworthy as far as the Tsarina and the two children are concerned, then I trust you with them,” I replied. “It's simple. And, to be honest, I'm relieved to find there's some good in you. You started out by doing everything you could to convince me you were a selfish, unrepentant, whining wretch.”

“Well,” he said slowly, “ _you_ started out by convincing _me_ that you wouldn't dream of helping me. And now you seem to want to.”

“Yes,” I replied. “I'll help you become the best bodyguard the Tsarina could have, if that's what you want. And if you do that, she will certainly appreciate you for it, and you will climb out of the hole you dug for yourself by your own efforts, rather than having someone else pull you out of it without your having learnt anything from being in it. That's the difference.”

There was a long pause. Then he said, “You didn't just float to the top, did you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“No, indeed. I wasn't going to say that. However, I'm glad you recognised it for yourself, because now you understand that nobody, in fact, merely floats.”

“Very well. I'll... do some hard climbing, then.” He sounded as though he could not quite believe he was saying it; but it was still an excellent start.

“I'm glad to hear it,” I replied, warmly.

“And... if I do well... you won't say that again about the College, will you?”

“Say what again?” I asked.

“You said I no longer counted as an Old Wykehamist because of what I did. I don't think you quite meant to stab me the way you did, but that one went home. I've always been proud of the old school, even if I... well, even if I didn't give it much reason to be proud of me.”

“Well,” I said, “in that case... you do, of course, remember the College motto?”

“Manners makyth man,” he recited, promptly and automatically.

“Indeed. I should say, therefore, that if you were at Winchester and you behave like an Old Wykehamist, then you are an Old Wykehamist.”

“Yes, my lord,” he said. “Thank you.”

I smiled. “Come on, then. Let's see if Gil can spare you a decent gun. Know how to use one?”

“Well, yes, an ordinary one, but not the sort you were talking about, my lord...”

“Very well,” I replied. “Then I think we should have a little time for a training session before Gil needs me in the laboratory.” I grinned from ear to ear. “I warn you, I'm going to be tough on you. But only because I want you to learn.”

“I... don't think I'm going to mind that, my lord,” he said, thoughtfully. “I'm starting to understand your brand of toughness.”

“You are?” I said.

“Yes... and I think I want to learn it.”


End file.
